


Frigid Waters And Warm Touch

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: When Frankie was fourteen years old, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest and a sting registering in his body as he nursed a sprained wrist.
Relationships: Mick Mars/Nikki Sixx
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	Frigid Waters And Warm Touch

When Frankie was fourteen years old, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest and a sting registering in his body as he nursed a sprained wrist. He wasn't even sure when it had happened - all of the days were just a blur anymore - but it did burn like a son of a bitch and and it wouldn't be good for tomorrow. He was going back to school tomorrow and the teachers would notice. 

( _They only notice sometimes. Mrs. Romer barely bats an eye whenever you show up with cigarette burns on your arms, but Mr. Kain threats to call the cops when you have a scratch on your face.)_

People, Frankie has learned, are fickle things, and they confuse him more than any calculus problem could. He cradled his wrist and looked up at the cracked mirror, at his pale face and the sunken eyes that stared back. Frankie sighed and told himself that there was only so many times that he could survive these beatings, and with that though came not fear, but pleasure. 

When Frankie was fifteen years old, as he lay in bed, he slowly rolled onto his stomach and opened the nightstand drawer. Below on the first floor, he could hear yelling and the sound of bodies thumping against the wall. The drawer held cigarettes and fake I.D's and a switchblade. 

( _The scars on his arms go unnoticed because child abuse is one thing, but some kid cutting his skin routinely is taboo. People stare and people point but he looks at them and they look away because they're scared.)_

Frankie held the switchblade above his arm and then slowly lowered it, pressing the cold blade against his skin, amongst burn scars and cutting scars, dragging it sideways until that blessed pain came to replace the numbness and hot blood trailed down his arm. 

When Nikki was seventeen years old, he began to play at bars for extra cash with the bass guitar that he'd bought back when he still lived with his grandparents, and amongst the drugs and the alcohol and the hazy smoke, he met a cooler, older kid named Blackie. 

( _Blackie was cool and he didn't give a shit about what anybody thought. He had a nice smile and was talented to a fault and liked the same kind of music that he did, and he always listened, even when he looked like there was a million other things that he wanted to be doing.)_

Nikki doesn't know 'love', he only knows 'infatuation', and then he locks himself in the bathroom because there's a weird feeling in his chest and he digs into his skin with half-bitten fingernails. When Blackie manages to plow his way through the door a few hours later, Nikki says that he thinks he's in love with Blackie and he was just so confused and Blackie smiles. "Nah, you just admire me." He says. 

( _And maybe that was true.)_

_(Because Blackie was rough and loud but he was nice to Nikki, and he had held out his hands and Nikki had taken them and Blackie had told him that the difference between love and infatuation was vast and that Blackie didn't want him to get hurt.)_

_(Blackie had, with such careful, delicate precision, told Nikki that he needed to close off his heart, just like he'd walled off his emotions.)_

_("You don't want anybody to hurt you again, right?" Blackie had said. "While you can't go around spouting 'bout all that love shit. Nobody can hurt you in your mind if you close if off. You know how you don't let yourself smile? Do that, but with your heart, and nobody will be able to get it. You're too smart for your own good, Nikki, but you're weak.")_

Truth be told, Nikki took that advice and he had imprinted it within his brain, until it repeated in his brain like a broken record and flashed in front of his eyes when he closed them at night, because he didn't want anybody to ever be able to hurt him again. 

With that being said, Nikki still found himself doing it - broken shards of glass and stolen switch blades, knives from the kitchen that he would toss in the dumpster, his nails, in a pinch. 

But years passed, anyways, an eternity and a half in three years. Nikki hadn't spoken to Blackie in awhile - maybe he should call him. Vince was off blowing some girl. Tommy was probably passed out drunk. 

Nikki was twenty-five years old, and he was going crazy, and his hair was fallong out from the drug use and he was talking to people that didn't exist and there was so many things to do.

The interviewer was droning on and on and on, paper cards held in front of his face because he didn't know jack shit about what he was talking about and Nikki couldn't help it, he really couldn't, but he didn't have one of his gloves on and he needed something so he was dragging his nails up and down up and down, a rhythmic burn, jagged nails catching on scars that hadn't had a chance to heal. 

Sounds blended together, colors and shapes and faces - they didn't really exist. 

From the other side of the couch, as the camera panned away so the interviewed could shoe it the new album cover, Mick slapped Nikki's hand, and then he grabbed it within his own. Mick's calluses scratched against Nikki's hand, and it tickled. "Stop that." Mick hissed. 

Nikki licked his dried, cracked lips, his fingers aching to go back but Mick's grasp felt so warm. "You know that I'm trying." He replied. 

"Yeah, and I'm Einstein." Mick scoffed, but his face was concerned behind his sunglasses and he squeezed Nikki's hand before letting it go again and the interviewed was asking more questions and Mick answered all of them, and then they left and got back to the limo, and Nikki squeezed Mick's leg. 

"Sorry." Nikki said. 

Mick lit a cigarette. "You're lucky that you're pretty, Sixx." He sighed, but rubbed Nikki's arm affectionately and, when Nikki began to nod off from a strange combination of exhaustion and boredom, he tugged Nikki's head down onto his shoulder. 

( _Later that night, Nikki would call Blackie and say that he's fallen in love.)_

_(Blackie would ask if Nikki was dumb or suicidal.)_

_(Nikki would say both, but just for now, Mick settled his restless mind and aching fingers.)_


End file.
